


Marionette

by muffinpolice (M4DN377orF8)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Coming Untouched, Dream Manipulation, Dubious Consent, First Time, Handprint Kink, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/Other, Top Castiel, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M4DN377orF8/pseuds/muffinpolice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set before 8x17. Naomi orders Castiel to seduce Dean in order to distract him from Castiel's odd behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marionette

WARNING: I did not tag this with the archive warning "rape/non-con" because I don't believe it quite directly reaches that level. However, that said, **there are strong elements of dubious consent** so if you're looking for crystal clear consent from all parties involved, take heed--you won't find it here.

Fill for the November SPN- http: //spnkink-meme.livejournal.comKink meme:

Request: Set before 8x17. Naomi orders Castiel to seduce Dean in order to distract him from Castiel's odd behavior. Dean is surprised at Castiel's advances but into it. Castiel is mentally resisting because although he does care about Dean, he doesn't want Naomi to be involved with any intimacy between them. Lots of emphasis on how Naomi is controlling Castiel's vessel.

(Again, edited only by me because I don't have a beta. Valiant efforts on my end for as few grammar/spelling errors as possible...but I'm not a perfect little fairy ;_;)

 

Marionette:

 

This all begins and ends with white, every time.

The washout is so sudden. Blinding and disorienting, the world is simply gone around him without warning and in its place is a sterility that has Castiel cringing. 

Where is he?

What’s going on?

Oh yes, he remembers now.

Naomi’s gaze pierces him—two striking orbs of blue in this room of white—and it feels as though razor blades are being drug down the back side of his skull, scraping…slicing…splitting…burning…

“Castiel…”

His eyes water and numbly, he swallows. He’s been here before. Countless times it seems, though the exact number escapes him; the idea is only just out of reach and brushing along the side of intangible, like waking up from an exhilarating dream.

“Castiel, the Winchesters are growing suspicious of your behavior. If you are to continue your observations, we can’t have them distrusting you,” Naomi continues, folding her hands on top of her desk. 

The Winchesters haven’t trusted him in quite some time. After his deal with Crowley and the subsequent Leviathan release, how could they? Inside, there is an answer brewing, sarcastic and laced with a touch of malice, but somehow Castiel’s mouth opens to reply obediently,

“I know. What will you have me do?”

His lack of self-control and sheer submission to Naomi is setting off an alarming dichotomy inside him. Castiel feels himself wanting to shut down. He just wants to stop, because ceasing to exist has never before seemed so alluring. However, alongside this, he’d also like to explode and gut Naomi with nothing but his fingernails. 

She gestures to the reclined chair on his left and asks him to make himself comfortable in it. Castiel has some vague idea of what’s coming. His eyes still feel hot and watery, and his movements are a little jittery as he climbs into the chair. As he lies there quietly and awaits further command, there’s a strange buzzing filling his head like static. The longer he’s left in the chair the more Castiel can feel a creeping anxiety manifest inside him. When it crescendos, he’s suddenly scrambling to get up, only to find his ankles and wrists bound to the chair fixture. He writhes and pulls at the binds, because needs to leave. Right now. He needs to go. To get out of this place. Out of this room. Get back. Back to Earth. Back to Dean. Because something is wrong about this. Something’s wrong. 

But Naomi’s hands are gentle as they coax Castiel into relaxing in the chair and she fixes her intense stare on him.  
“Don’t be afraid, brother. You are aiding Heaven in your endeavors with the Winchesters. Remember, this is atonement for your sins, because you yourself said Purgatory was not penance enough for you.”

“What will you have me do?” Castiel repeats, but this time with genuine concern about the answer.

“Distract Dean.”

“How?”

Naomi smile is equal parts sweet and venomous. “A human man like Dean Winchester is easy enough to conquer. Take him to bed Castiel. Make him forget his concerns.”

“You are asking me to have intercourse with Dean?” he asks, voice low and strained.

“There’s no need to play coy Castiel. We are all well aware of the strange desires you harbor for that human. It became known when you chose the Winchester boy over the Host; since you took up your blade and slew your brother Uriel. You’ve since betrayed your home and your kind. Now you have been saved from Purgatory and given a second chance. Will you take it and repay what you owe Heaven?” 

Castiel doesn’t remember saying yes or no. All he hears is the strange buzzing becoming louder. 

All he sees is white.

 

“Cas! Hey Cas! Are you listening, man?” 

Castiel blinks several times, giving his a head a light shake. His gaze refocuses, picking up on Dean who’s standing a few feet away and quirking an eyebrow at him. There is a downturn to his pink mouth and worry lines that are beginning etch themselves into the flesh of his forehead. Somewhere vague but deep inside, Cas feels himself wanting to reach out drag his fingers along those wrinkles in Dean’s skin. He wants to wipe them off, smooth them out, and leave Dean feeling peaceful and secure. But for how gentle and secret this desire is to comfort his human charge, Castiel now also feels something strange entwined with it; something hotter, foreign, and more visceral, rising to the surface as he stares at Dean. He’s never experienced heat like this and it alarms him, so instead of reaching out, he looks away ashamed.

“Yes. You asked me about the tablet…” Castiel murmurs croakily, eyes trailing along the bunker floor while his fingers twitch inside his coat pockets.

“Yeah. Are you turning up any leads on the second half of it?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Dean is studying him intently. He can feel Dean’s gaze as he always has, strong and unyielding. And behind the stare, Castiel hears the gentle ringing of his soul calling out. It is a sweet but melancholy melody that the Angel is all too familiar with, having known that stunning soul before placing it back inside a shell of flesh. Castiel realizes if he chooses to meet that piercing gaze right now, he’ll be able to see straight through into that breathtaking, miraculous brightness that makes up Dean’s core. He wants to look. He wants to stare past those apple green eyes and get struck by his bottled up sunshine and listen to the sad, soft notes of Dean’s prayers rising up for him.

_Cas…Cas. I’m right here._

Dean sighs and breaks away, exiting the room. Judging by the direction he takes, he’s heading for the kitchen. Castiel glances at the wall clock, noting it’s around ‘supper time’. The fact that Dean has been preparing meals since discovering the bunker has not escaped Castiel. After being invited to stay at the Winchesters’ base camp—or the Batcave, as Dean affectionately named it—Castiel noticed Dean disappearing a couple times a day into the kitchen. He always returned with a hot meal for two and big smile, eyes crinkling in the corners with happiness and pride. Sam would eat every bit his brother offered him, always with a touch of surprise passing over his features as he exclaimed, ‘wow’ or ‘this actually tastes good’ or ‘since when did you get all domestic, Dean?’. And Dean for his part would beam or laugh, saying ‘shut up Sammy’ before popping a couple of playful punches to Sam’s shoulder. Each meal followed this routine and when the food was gone from their plates, Dean would stand quietly to clean off the table. He’d retreat to the kitchen once again, this time to wash up the dishes while singing some of his favorite songs under his breath. Castiel had sometimes lurked in the doorway to watch him during those private moments, taking silent pleasure in Dean’s serene contentedness. There had been also a few occasions in which he had been caught as Dean threw a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, remarking something along the lines of,

“Yeah, I thought the hairs on my neck were rising. Sup’ Cas…?”

Tonight Castiel openly follows Dean to watch him prepare dinner, rather than clean up after it. The Hunter is already flitting around the kitchen, pulling drawers and opening cabinets as if he’d lived here his entire life, rather than just several weeks. A couple utensils, a variety of spices, a big pot and a skillet are placed on the countertop in front of Cas, who has seated himself on a stool. Next comes two jars of pasta sauce—one Alfredo, one Marinara—proceeded by a can of diced tomatoes, a can of olives, a container of raw mushrooms, a green pepper, a yellow onion, and a pound of ground beef. For as much as Dean seemed to tease Sam about being a health nut, or eating ‘rabbit food’, he cooks with a lot of vegetables. Castiel believes Dean actually likes eating them if they’re prepared in a way he enjoys, and even more so if there’s a bit of meat to go along with it, hence the beef.

The cutting board is pulled out and Dean is picking up his straight edge knife to prepare the veggies. The two of them refrain from speaking and the only sound drifting through the kitchen is the methodical crunch of a pepper being sliced through. Castiel’s eyes lower to Dean’s hands, observing the flex of tendons and muscles. He likes how the freckled skin shifts to accommodate every movement and the way Dean’s nails sound when they click against the board. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Castiel stretches out and grazes his fingers over the top of chopping hand. He traces them along a protruding vein before sliding over the bump of a wrist bone. 

There’s a quiet noise from Dean, who’s frozen in place. Shock is apparent in his face even as Castiel draws away, resting his hands back in his lap. The Angel can feel the beginnings of an erection beneath his palms. The last time he experienced arousal like this, he had been watching the Pizza Man on the television. But even then, it had only been mild stirrings of interest; his vessel merely responding to visual stimuli. This time, it’s not pornography, and he’s not in a vessel but resides in a body inhabited only by him. This time, it is simply looking at Dean that makes his skin feel tight and his dick swell up. This time, it’s the lingering smell of the man’s aftershave and sweat mingling together, and the ever so slight tremor of those freckled hands that sending Castiel into an inner frenzy.

Confused, he looks down fixatedly at the sliced pepper and only the sliced pepper. He’s never felt sensations towards Dean like this before, and although he can’t pinpoint why, there’s an outlying pressure pushing him to touch, taste, and take; like a forceful wave of encouragement rushing over his form and threatening to drown him if he doesn’t submit to it. 

Inside his head there’s a building white noise, a blurry image of red hair, a flash of a silver needle—Castiel takes a deep breath, even though he doesn’t require any oxygen. It is not until Dean clears his throat that Cas finds the nerve to glance up, catching a rosy tint dusting the Winchester’s cheeks.

“Can I help you with something?” Dean quips.

Castiel’s mouth almost opens.

_Yes. Strip off your clothes and bare yourself to me._

“I can cut vegetables too,” supplies Castiel instead, lamely.

Wordlessly, Dean’s brows raise and he slides the cutting board towards Cas with the knife resting on top. Apparently he trusts the Angel enough to finish the vegetables and turns his attention to browning the ground beef on the stove. Minutes pass and an enticing aroma begins to waft through the kitchen as he seasons and stirs the beef. When Castiel finishes with his task, he walks towards the stove with neat, sorted piles on his board. Dean hasn’t looked at him since starting the meat but his back noticeably straightens as he hears Castiel approach. Slowly, cautiously—as if not to frighten a spooked animal—he steps up behind the Hunter, close—as close as he can get without directly pressing against him—and reaches around with the board to sweep his efforts into the skillet. It’s not quite an embrace, but the effect is the same. The sizzle and snap of the veggies as they meet the grease is loud, but all noise is lost under the soft gasp from Dean.  
“C-Cas?” he asks, his voice unsteady.

Castiel allows the tip of his nose to graze Dean’s neck as he pulls away. 

“Dinner smells wonderful Dean,” he compliments.

The Winchester’s mouth opens and closes a few times, failing at processing any words, and Castiel uses the opportunity to leave the kitchen. That terrible pressure that has seeded itself behind his right eye seems to double the further he strays away from the room, but he needs to put space between himself and Dean. 

Stubbornly, he shakes his head, pressing a palm against his burning eye socket. He doesn’t understand the want that now courses through his veins, blistering and heavy, like magma. It’s almost as if there’s a voice all around him, singing for him to turn around, and it has Castiel recalling human tales of sirens and sailors. Because he certainly feels as though an invisible siren is beckoning him across this ocean of sensations, to return to Dean in the kitchen, and continue what he’s started; little touches and lingering looks. Not that looking at Dean is anything new, but now he’s starting to appreciate the view. All those toned muscles flexing beneath constricting clothing, the little dimple Dean gets when he has a lopsided smirk…

Yes, Castiel said once that humans were the most exquisite of his Father’s creations and he still stands by that now. Dean Winchester is a piece of art, beautiful in so many ways. It’s easy to see how Dean has taken so many bedmates despite humans’ distinct lack of ability to see souls (because Dean’s soul is indeed especially rare and splendid). The man’s physical form has appeal and Castiel imagines what it would be like to hold that body in his hands once more, without the intention of rebuilding it cell by cell. The thought has him getting hard again.  
\--

 

Castiel doesn’t know whether it is impulse or instinct that has him hovering over Dean’s bed that evening. He gazes at his sleeping form and absorbs the sight of a gently rising, naked chest. Even in the dim light from the desk lamp, he can make out brown nipples, slightly pebbled with a dusting of hairs around them. There’s a light snuff and Dean rolls over onto his side, effectively hiding his pretty nubs from Castiel’s fierce blue gaze. With his focus broken, the Angel returns to concentrating on his original intent; Dean’s dreams.

He needs to distract Dean. He doesn’t want Dean distrusting him. He wants to show Dean he’s useful. He wants to be forgiven. He wants to repay his debts. He wants to belong.

And there’s the matter of **the voice**. The one that comes with all the urgency of fire, insisting that his body is the best method of earning his place—and trust—with Dean at the Bunker. Castiel wonders about shedding his layers of clothing to stand nude before Dean. How would the Hunter react to Cas’ offer of flesh? Would he accept him? The voice seems to think so, and so it whispers for him to wake Dean. But an increasingly familiar feeling of uncertainty flares up in Castiel’s gut at the thought. Because what did he have that would interest Dean? He has no experience beyond his kiss with Meg and he has a male form. From his time spent remaking Dean after Hell, he knows about the few fumbling moments in dark bathroom stalls or against alleyway walls. Men are something Dean has tasted previously, but his preferences still swing strongly towards beautiful women. Cas remembers long hair, flowery scents, and flowing curves—of which he has none—and the doubt this acknowledgment brings has him resisting; it freezes him in place next to his friend’s bed. 

Pain spikes in the back of his eyes and Castiel doubles over, clutching his head. He manages to choke down any noises that might wake Dean but the pressure is building and his vision swims. The more he resists, the more he hurts. The voice is telling him to obey; that the buzzing will subside if he gives into it. Caught between the desire to flee or submit, in a moment of desperation, Castiel flings his consciousness out and touches along the edges of Dean’s dreams.  
The Winchester’s thoughts are as pliant as warm butter to Cas’ reach and he tumbles easily into them. Like a lot of Dean’s good dreams, the setting is a warm day. Cas sees him lying in a hammock hammered up between two oak trees. Dean is swaying moderately side to side and from his place several feet away, the Angel can see him occasionally lift a bottle of beer to his lips. Castiel enjoys how calm Dean’s dreams have grown and this one is especially complacent in comparison to the others, so he can’t help the guilt that pokes him inside when he pushes his own intent into the dream. 

Castiel invites arousal into the summer picture and he can feel the mood shift as the attractive woman he summoned appears and makes her way towards the hammock. Dean is sitting up now and gazing across the grass over at her. He sets down his beer and goes to greet her with a hug. As it goes with the irrationality of human dreams, Dean reacts to this perfect stranger as if he’d known her for ages. Slowly, the grass, the trees, and the field in the background fades, eventually shifting into Dean’s room at the Bunker. Cas chose this location because he knows it is a place of comfort and safety for Dean and he is not mistaken. They’re already kissing when Castiel joins them, lingering in a shadowy corner of the room. He’s curious to know if Dean has picked up on the female’s black hair and blue eyes, or if Dean has noticed her white blouse underneath that khaki corduroy jacket. 

It is not until the man is leaning back on the bed with the stranger straddling him that he sees Castiel in the corner. Immediately he stiffens—his green eyes big with shock—and his spit-slick lips part.

“C-Cas?” he croaks.

The intonation of his voice is low and shaky, and it reminds the Angel of how Dean spoke earlier in the kitchen when his personal space had been breached. 

“Hello Dean.”

Cas shucks off his coat in a graceful roll of his shoulders and it slides smoothly down his arms to pool on the floor. From his place in bed, Dean stares motionless as Castiel tugs on his tie, loosening it. Dean’s chest is rapidly rising and falling as his gaze flits over the Angel’s stoic face. 

“What are you doing?” he asks huskily while watching Cas’ fingers deftly undo the top three buttons of his dress shirt.

At this inquiry, Cas pauses and makes direct eye contact with the Hunter. He cranks through all the possible answers he could give while ignoring the buzzing blossoming in his head. The woman he has conjured leans down and starts kissing along Dean’s neck to buy some time.

_I am attempting to seduce you. I am offering my body to you. I’m—_

“I’m stripping,” he rumbles, undoing another button of his shirt.

An odd squeak slips past Dean’s lips and he swipes a trembling hand down the front of his face, as if to banish his astonishment. When the woman finds a sweet spot along his neck, Cas drinks in the sight of Dean’s eyes fluttering shut and his mouth opening in a silent sigh. 

“Are you…gonna come over, or just watch?” questions Dean, his eyes open and vulnerable to Castiel’s piercing gaze.

Cas wants to go over and give himself up to this human. He wants Dean to teach him pleasure and all the sins of the flesh, yet he holds still. Because…

…because…

…something doesn’t feel right.

And now that he’s pinpointed this nagging sensation, he’s become hyper-aware of it. Castiel glances over his shoulder frantically to see whatever it is that’s watching them, but sees nothing but the Bunker wall. Inwardly, he’s attempting to quell this peculiar panic by repeating to himself that he’s in this dream alone with Dean. That no one can enter Dean’s dreams alongside him without Castiel’s express knowledge. So why? Why does he feel as though he’s being monitored?

Suddenly, Cas feels very naked and it has nothing to do with his shirt being half open.

“I have to go,” he whispers quickly and withdraws from the dream in a rush.

Back in reality, Castiel bolts from the room before Dean can manage to wake up.  
\--

 

“Oh, Castiel. I’m so disappointed in you,” Naomi admonishes, brows furrowed.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” Castiel begs, one hand gripping desperately at his dark hair.

“Do not forget whom it is you serve. I told you to distract the Winchester boy and this is the best you could come up with? Dream manipulation and a lukewarm strip tease?” 

“I’m sorry,” mumbles Castiel, his gaze lowering in humility. 

Naomi’s eyes are fixed on him and she regards him for a few long moments before speaking again.

“Perhaps I gave you too much leeway. With a firmer hand, you should do just fine,” she mutters, gesturing at the chair. “I’ll give you the guidance necessary for you to be successful, and this time, I’ll make sure you can _remember_ why failure is not an option.”  
\--

After Sam leaves to visit Kevin, Castiel catches Dean staring at him a lot over the course of several days and he allows it to happen without comment. His head—especially his right eye—still aches and although he doesn’t recall how he injured them, Cas can remember his Director, Naomi, and her mission. He doesn’t want to tell Dean about Naomi, because even more than the Hunter’s current lack of faith in him, is the man’s overwhelming loathing of Angels. Dean hadn’t understood Castiel admission about desiring to stay in Purgatory as penance, so in all likelihood Dean probably wouldn’t understand Cas’ desire to repay the Host. All Naomi wants to know is what the Winchester brothers are doing. They are seeking out tablets and are also currently decoding part of the Demon one. And because the Winchesters are involved with the tablets so intricately, Heaven feels threatened and that is dangerous territory; the humans’ activity certainly warrants observation and Castiel is only happy to comply. He owes Heaven an eternity of servitude for the lives of his brethren he stole.

“Can I ask you something?” 

Dean’s deep voice echoes slightly throughout the library and Cas cracks open his eyes from his reclined resting spot on the couch. Dean is dressed in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants, standing warily at the opposite end of the couch. Apparently Castiel doesn’t even need to reply because he charges on.

“Did you, um, mojo inside one of my dreams a few nights ago? Like you did back when we were hunted by Angels?”

Castiel blinks once and answers with a blunt, “Yes.”

“O-Oh, ok then. Wow. Um…about that…”

The voice that Castiel now recognizes as Naomi’s filters through his thoughts:  
 **Now.**

Cas, uncomfortable with her awareness but his body compliant, obeys. He leans his head back against the couch and lifts his chin slightly, exposing a long column of pale skin. His eyelids lower to half-mast and he runs the hand not wedged against the couch cushions up from his beltline to his chest. In a manner mirroring the night he visited Dean’s dream, he begins unbuttoning his shirt in increments, making sure to drag his gaze all over Dean’s form.

“What’re you—”

“You told me I’ve been acting strangely since returning from Purgatory. I’m trying to show you why Dean. I…can’t stop thinking about you.” Cas pauses, biting his lip. “I see you differently since coming back. I see you as a man, Dean.”

Castiel can’t control the words spilling from his mouth and he can feel his cheeks burning to match the emotion he only barely recognizes as embarrassment.

“Cas…I…” says Dean weakly, trailing off as Castiel’s white shirt falls open.

**Being forceful is key. Confidence will reel him in.**

“Dean, are you coming over or are you just going to watch me?” murmurs Cas, feeling himself lean up onto his elbows. He watches as Dean’s eyes light up with recognition of the line Cas just spoke to him. 

It feels strange having Naomi’s will manipulating him and Castiel hopes that he’ll become accustomed to her control quickly. He’s caught in a bizarre no-man’s land in this situation; the feeling of his fingers unbuckling his belt when he’s not moving them is disconcerting, especially knowing Naomi is directing the movement. He doesn’t like her touching him, even when using his own hands and knowing that if Dean accepts this invitation of intimacy, that her touch will be on him too, makes Castiel’s stomach churn violently. Castiel doesn’t know if it’s the sexuality or Naomi’s physical manipulation that is making him incredibly in tune with—far more than ever before—the body he resides in. He feels every prickle dancing along his skin, the way his bare toes flex against the material of the couch, the clench of his throat as he swallows…

Dean is coming towards him, his expression stern. He drops to one knee next to Castiel, bringing their faces close together.

“This is the reason you’ve been acting weird?” he speaks quietly, bringing his hand up to stroke Cas’ chest. “You…want me?” 

“Yes,” Castiel mouth assures, and although he had nothing to do with the word slipping out, it is the truth. He does want Dean.

Green eyes trace over Castiel’s features, searching for signs of deceit or reluctance. He apparently finds none because he’s then leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Cas moans softly against his lips and it’s not clear whether the sound was purely him or another skillfully timed play from Naomi. However, it feels distinctly Naomi when his arms rise up to drape around Dean’s broad back. He feels far too nervous to actually move himself.

The detached manner in which his arms embrace Dean brings Castiel back to a day he spent on a church step in Italy several hundred years ago. He had been watching a devout man play Manipulator to a small stage in front of an equally small crowd, depicting scenes of Christian morality with tiny wooden marionettes. He remembers each little twist of fingers and gentle jerk of the man’s hands would send those little puppets into a flurry of motion, breathing life into them. Perversely, he feels the opposite as his hands are guided down Dean’s back to find the hem of his shirt. Castiel feels as though he’s lost his life by losing control of his body. His Director—his Manipulator—has robbed him of individualism and Cas is beginning to wonder if this sacrifice is truly necessary in order to settle his debts.

Dean’s shirt is peeled off and he looks down at Cas with a small twinkle in his eyes. He has moved on top of the Angel and their bare stomachs are now pressed together.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this too,” Dean confesses softly, bending down and kissing Castiel again.

Those words set off a warm ache in Cas’ heart. He longs to respond to Dean himself but knows his mouth is sealed off by more than the Hunter’s full lips. Naomi is silencing him and he has no choice but to relax into Dean’s kisses instead of replying. And oh, these kisses are so sweet. Cas’ eyes are closed and he finds that it heightens his other senses. It’s easy for him to pick up on every little change of movement from Dean. He doesn’t miss a single brush or sincere press, and when a tongue tentatively touches at his bottom lip, Cas opens his mouth so it can slide inside. His body is responding in earnest now. Between his legs, his dick is hard, and his temples are beginning to feel dewy with perspiration. Dean’s hands frame his face in a tender manner, thumbs stroking Castiel’s cheeks as he rubs their tongues together. However, a mounting desperation is sowing itself inside Castiel, spoiling the sweetness of the embrace. It is a queer mix of lust and claustrophobia. 

He needs to move his hands, his hips, his mouth…he needs power over his body so he can govern the caresses Dean receives. Right now, Castiel remains a prisoner in his own body and he’s no more than a puppet to Naomi’s will. So when his fingers come around to pinch at the nipples he finds so attractive, Castiel grows frustrated that Dean throws his head back with a long moan, because Naomi doesn’t need to see this. Dean isn’t meant to be witnessed like this by just anybody, when he’s so raw and susceptible. His reputation as a Hunter should be the only thing Naomi ever knows about him, and yet here she is—her seemingly invisible hands placed over Castiel’s and forcing them to glide over Dean’s collar bones. She doesn’t need to behold the warmth that floods into Dean’s eyes at this touch. 

“Hey Cas…”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Don’t stop touching me, okay?” The man buries his face into Castiel’s neck, delivering a series of pecks as he rolls his hips downwards. Since he’s between Cas’ spread legs, pleasure spikes white hot with every press of his groin and it sends Castiel reeling. “I need this Cas. Need you…” Dean groans.

Cas wants to respond to these professions by putting his hands into Dean’s hair and drawing him in even closer. Agitated doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels when instead of carding through Dean’s locks, his fingers slip into the back of grey sleep pants to grasp at rounded flesh. For his part, Dean doesn’t seem disappointed by the groping because his eyes have fallen shut and he has his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. Cas wants to kiss him, wants to goad Dean’s tongue to return to his mouth, wants to lick along the pink shell of Dean’s ear, but he is still mindlessly kneading at that warm backside. 

“You can…go further,” whispers Dean in invitation, gaze heated under long golden lashes.

The Angel is confused. He doesn’t understand what Dean means but Naomi obviously does, because Cas’ fingers are slipping down into Dean’s cleft to nudge along his hole. This has Dean shuddering and sighing at each tiny graze to that sensitive area, and he wantonly accepts any bolder caress Cas’ fingers offer. His lips lower to one of Castiel’s pink nipples and he laps at it, making sure it hardens before sucking on it. As Cas’ back arcs off the couch and he emits a small moan, he becomes vaguely aware that the reaction is strictly his and Naomi is letting it slip through her control. If she’s allowing this, Castiel can’t help but wonder and hope that she’ll back off and let him finish alone. 

He hates it when his fingers slide past Dean’s swollen lips to thrust back and forth along a wet, eager tongue. Helpless and angry, he watches as the Hunter’s mouth is fucked and violated by his manipulated fingers. Dean is special to him and knowing that Naomi can see the gorgeous flush highlighting the man’s cheeks is infuriating. Naomi shouldn’t be the one making love to Dean. It should only be him involved in this intimacy, and Dean thinks it’s only him, and this is so wrong—

_Stop, I don’t want it like this. Please Naomi, let me…_

A growl of frustration actually manages to rip from Castiel’s throat as his soaked fingers move back to Dean’s ass without his consent. When one pushes inside, no matter how upset he feels, Cas can’t help but marvel at the expression of bliss that blooms on Dean’s face. If he had only been braver about approaching Dean a few days ago, this expression could have been made entirely for him. 

Resentment pools hot and ugly in his gut.

“Hey, wait. Hold on. I need to go grab some stuff,” announces Dean suddenly, and Cas’ finger slips out when he clambers up of the couch. 

The Angel watches as Dean disappears around the corner in the direction of his bedroom. Moments later he comes back to drop a couple condoms and bottle of lubricant onto Cas’ stomach. He then unceremoniously sheds his pants, freeing a bobbing erection. Blue eyes lock onto the swollen cock a foot from his face and Cas feels his tongue dart out to wet his lips. 

“Get naked Cas,” Dean orders, giving his hard-on a couple quick pulls.

In seconds Castiel is directed up off the couch, leaving his shirt behind, and his hands scramble to yank down his zipper and push the remainder of his clothing to the floor. Dean snags him by the blue tie he’s forgotten to remove and tugs him forward into a messy kiss. Calloused hands are digging themselves into black hair while Dean bites down on Castiel’s lower lip. Then he’s diving back inside with his tongue and sliding it against Cas’, over and over, until the Angel feels his own legs tremble. They stumble back onto the couch and Dean grins, twisting away. He’s getting to his knees and resting his forearms on the back of the couch when Castiel’s thoughts catch up with the situation. 

Dean wants to be taken by him.

Naomi presence sifts into perfect clarity inside his consciousness and he knows his surprise has her very amused. She gives a meaningful shove at his body and Castiel finds himself dropping to his knees behind Dean, hand plucking up the bottle of lube nearby. 

“Want you inside me so bad…” Dean says, voice course. His eyes peer imploringly over his shoulder at Castiel. 

Cool lube spills out onto Cas’ shaking fingers. He’s fighting every twitch of his aroused cock, ignoring the way pre-come has bubbled out and dribbled a clear strand all the way down to his thigh, because he stills wants this moment to be only between him and Dean. The fact remains that it isn’t. Naomi is persuading his finger to go inside of Dean once again and the man is panting quietly for them, spread out against the couch. Castiel feels ignited with a strange fury about how he’s allowed Naomi to bring him to Dean this way. Any closeness he’s shared with Dean before now has strictly been his and his alone…and now there’s a fiery jealousy that boils over when he watches two of his fingers plunge past Dean’s fluttering ring. 

_Stop this, Naomi._

Castiel’s mind feels as though it is about to split and he grits his teeth through the pain. His hand is still rocking into Dean to stretch those velvety muscles when he abruptly leans over, resting his forehead against a strong back. An influx of pain has Castiel gasping against that damp skin and Dean moans, mistaking the sound for arousal. Along Cas’ cheek, there’s unusual warmth that begins to trickle down and he reaches over with his free hand to swipe at it. When his fingers come away bloody, a cold hysteria erupts in him. 

_What have you **done** to me?_

The unwelcome presence that has infiltrated his consciousness siphons away his panic. The mental embrace he’s receiving from Naomi has Castiel recoiling, but it’s futile. She has him firmly within her grasp and with the burgeoning—albeit manufactured—calmness spreading swiftly throughout his mental cavity, Cas finds himself refocused on his ministrations to Dean. A third finger is in him now and the Hunter’s hips are quaking lightly.

“Stop teasing me, man. You already have me on the edge,” whines Dean, his face half hidden in the couch cushion. 

Cas observes Dean’s hand rummaging outwards, fingers fumbling over the condoms and shuffling them closer. He shifts, picking one up and tears it open. The rubber is rolled down his cock quickly and he throws a meaningful look over at Castiel. Naomi commands Cas’ hand outward and he follows Dean’s example, opening the package and guiding the condom onto his cock. More lubricant is slicked onto his sheathed dick with a calloused hand, then Dean’s chest presses against the couch as he reaches back to pull apart his cheeks, once again offering up his pink hole.

Castiel feels as though he has been robbed of the very breath from his lungs as he scoots forwards obediently and prods at the entrance. As he immerses himself completely, basking in the sensation of becoming one with Dean, Cas bends to kiss and bite at the base of his neck.

“Cas…!”

Dean is bucking his hips backwards, fucking himself down onto Castiel’s cock without restraint. He’s undulating smoothly, picking up a steady rhythm and making sticky slaps echo about the room. There are soft grunts and gasps escaping Cas’ lips as the tight heat of Dean continually draws him in. His fingers dig into the man’s hips harshly, hoping to ground himself because he feels as though he’s falling.

“Move Cas! Want to feel you…” cries Dean, as his nails scratch at the leather of the couch.

The sensation of invisible hands pressing into Castiel’s back has him shuddering in disgust, but Naomi is directing him to move the way Dean needs him to. He’s hunched over, brutally holding Dean’s hips in place as he drills into him. Below him, Dean is fast becoming a mess of sweat and groans, gripping the couch as if it were a lifeline. Castiel is leaving a line of kisses on Dean’s spine when a second slippery noise begins to intermingle with the other sounds of their merger. 

Leaning up, Cas sees Dean’s arm moving and realizes his hand is on his own cock, pumping it wildly. He finds he loves the sight of Dean pleasuring himself and Cas wants to whisper filthy encouragement into his human’s ear, but Naomi gags him into silence. 

“I’m so close Cas,” Dean moans.

Suddenly Cas is pulsing and throbbing, crying out loudly as bursts of heat expel from him. His orgasm catches him off guard and a little sob tears out of his throat as he’s taken away by it. He’s never experienced one before and can’t help but be completely blindsided. Naomi’s gag-order collapses and Castiel discovers himself openly shouting,

“Dean, Dean, Dean…!” as he comes apart inside the man.

 

Breathing labored and officially spent, Cas reluctantly pulls himself from Dean, who has slumped against the couch.  
The condom feels very uncomfortable now and he takes it off but is unsure where to place it. Dean turns around a moment later, only to smirk at the sight of Cas still kneeling with a filled condom pinched between his fingers. 

“Give it here…” he offers, grabbing the rubber and tying it off. 

He then casually tosses it on top of their clothes strewn about on the floor. As Dean finishes taking off his own, Castiel is compelled by Naomi to reach out and touch his persisting erection. This time, Castiel knows why.

“You haven’t reached completion yet,” he says. 

“Um…yeah? Shit, I didn’t think you’d—uh okay, just let me go get another condom. This one can’t be used again.”

“That’s unnecessary. I know you to be healthy, and even if you weren’t, I cannot catch diseases. We’ll continue without one.”

After experiencing his own, Cas desires enormously to see Dean orgasm, but definitely not under Naomi's guidance or observation. He believes it bad enough that Dean had been so exposed and vulnerable to her prying eyes during their earlier moments of intimacy, but now the realization of Naomi also wanting him to bring Dean to peak in front of her is flooding Castiel with misery. Unwillingly, his hands drift up and down Dean’s thighs, conjuring little shivers to spring up in the muscles underneath. 

Cas knows with a dreadful certainty that Naomi is going to get exactly what she came for:

Dean, conquered and sated. 

Perhaps it is out of some shred of mercy from Naomi, or maybe it’s from some hidden reserve of willpower Castiel couldn’t tap into until now, but the Angel manages to get enough strength to influence his body to bow forward. The action makes the all too familiar buzzing come back and his eye socket seem as though it’s caught fire, but he has the result he sought. 

His lips press carefully onto the curve of Dean’s shoulder, his tongue sliding along to massage the skin it meets. He knows this area of skin very well, and although he had long since healed his mark from Dean, the bond still exists beneath the flesh. Cas calls out to it with his lips and his teeth, enjoying the confusion rising up inside him from Naomi. Dean is moaning, wrapping free arm around Cas’ shoulders and holding him close. The Angel knows the pleasure he can send into Dean through his mark—his bond—and he utilizes it for the privacy it provides. The way Dean writhes when he sucks lightly on the spot where the thumbprint used to be has Cas smiling. Against his thigh, a cock presses, hard, wet, and heavy.

“Holy—are you….u-using Angel mojo on me?” asks Dean, his hips jerking upwards.

Castiel answers with a swift bite and this is all it takes to have Dean coming untouched. Cas withdraws to watch him orgasm, Dean’s pulsating cockhead painting his toned stomach in thick ribbons of semen. Satisfaction blooms in Castiel at the sight.

“C’mere,” mumbles Dean, reaching out and pulling Cas in for a kiss.

It’s sweet and chaste, and full of the sunshine Castiel sees behind Dean’s eyes. He tries not to think about how this kiss is being shared with Naomi too.

 

They lay down together—spooning, as Dean refers to it—with Cas folded against his human’s back. Dean falls asleep quickly, obviously content being wrapped up in nothing but a pair of arms. To Castiel’s relief, his Director’s immediate presence has finally departed, but there remains lingering guilt and shame. 

Cas frowns, knowing that she probably can still see him as he lifts up and deposits a tiny kiss on Dean’s ear, but the affection is his own to give...

...and he gives it to Dean freely. 

-fin-


End file.
